The Republic of Oz

by Ian Wisby

  People celebrating. Will have to find a safe spot for you to hide,” he continued.

  As he stood there sipping his cappuccino, his Smartphone started ringing. Mick was one of those people who were still adjusting to these new ‘high-tech’, fancy mobile devices that could be unlocked with one’s fingerprint. He checked to see who it was calling, and answered. “Inspector Greer.”

  He looked up at the TV to see an aerial shot of the Opera House. “Alright, I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said, and hung up.

  He stood there and looked at the TV. “Today is going to be a long day.” He grabbed his suit jacket and headed to the door.

  * * *

  John and Charmaine Bradley had been together for the past twenty odd years and loved each other very much. Since Charmaine entered a life of politics, John had supported his wife every single day and wanted her to be successful.

  After being appointed the first President of Australia, John became a well-liked man. However, he had been suffering from depression, as well as grief.

  Six months ago, he and Charmaine lost their daughter, Amanda.

  She allegedly committed suicide, but it was never proven. For the past six months, her death had been in the papers and it was a daily hot topic for news channels.

  After a thorough investigation by the Australian Federal Police, it was revealed that she did in fact commit suicide, and the case was closed. But of course, John refused to believe it.

  He was convinced that her death was not a suicide, and that she’d been murdered by someone. He spent the last couple of weeks attempting to find out the truth about her death.

  John was already in Sydney. He was there waiting for the arrival of his wife, the President of Australia.

  It was an exciting time, as Australia was set to officially become a republic.

  John would be joining his wife on stage at the Sydney Opera House for the acceptance speech.

  John found himself standing by the window gazing out into oblivion.

  He stood there sipping his cup of coffee and dwelled on Amanda’s death. But he just never got over it, as any parent wouldn’t forget their child’s parting. At times, he’d often felt alone; but he wasn’t alone.

  He had a private bodyguard, Mitch Clark. Several months ago, he was hired to protect John, as he’d received multiple death threats.

  This morning, he was having a private session with his psychologist, Emily Scott. She’d been treating him for his depression and grief and helped him a lot in the past six months. “So, how are you feeling today, John? I know it’s a bit of an open-ended question, but I want to help you through this,” said Emily, as she sat there on the couch.

  John didn’t reply straight away. He already had tears in his eyes, as he thought about Amanda.

  --

  John Bradley was grieving.

  And rightfully so. He’d just found out that his only daughter had committed suicide. He’d spent the past ten minutes, while speaking with one of the senior detectives on the scene, and trying to figure out, what could have possibly driven her to want to end her life?

  The detectives who were examining the scene were saying that she’d overdosed on drugs. And it was true, there were little white pills scattered around Amanda’s body, which of course had been covered over by a black sheet.

  The medical examiner had already done his job, and had determined a time of death, as well as a cause of death. But John wasn’t convinced. He knew his daughter, and yes, she did have a highly stressful job, not to mention, a very demanding job, but she also had her morals, and drugs wasn’t one of them.

  He was trying to rack his brain and figure out when it all went wrong. He did everything right as a father, as a parent. He taught the wrongs and the rights, and was there to give her advice when she needed it.

  But there was never ever any indication that Amanda was depressed. Her marriage was great, as far as he knew from what she told him during the weekly calls they made to each other. He was devastated that he wouldn’t be able to have those conversations with her anymore.

  He stood there, motionless. Trying so hard to listen to the detective who was asking him a bunch of questions. But all he could do was stare at the covered up body of his child.

  In the next room, another detective was questioning a man, Andrew Shaw, who was Amanda’s husband. John never got on with Andrew, and had been very wary of him since the day Amanda introduced him.

  There was just something about him, that made John suspect him of being the one who murdered his daughter. He stood there for a moment, and rage was boiling up inside him. He watched as Andrew answered questions emotionless.

  It was as though he didn’t seem to care that the love of his life was now dead. At that, without any provocation, John stormed over to Andrew and started screaming at him. “You son of a bitch!” he shouted. Andrew was surprised by John’s reaction. “You killed my daughter! You killed her you bastard!” he screamed, and was threatening to throw a punch, but the detective and several uniformed officers stepped in and quickly restrained John.

  “Mr. Bradley, please calm down,” said the detective, as he pushed him back from Andrew.

  “That animal murdered my daughter!” he said, getting upset.

  “Mr. Bradley…I’m sorry, but you need to restrain yourself, or we’ll have to restrain you with force,” said the detective. But John wasn’t having any of it. He was determined to get a hold of Andrew, and inflict as much damage as he could.

  At that point, more officers intervened and they awkwardly escorted John out, who was kicking and screaming. Andrew was left standing there, in complete shock. He could totally understand why John suspected him, but there was no doubt that he did not kill his own wife.

  Andrew loved her. He loved her so much, that they were even planning on having a child together.

  “Mr. Shaw, once again, I am very sorry for your loss,” said the detective.

  “Thank you.” Andrew shed a tear as he watched a gurney being wheeled out with Amanda’s body on it.

  “I’d also like to apologise for Mr. Bradley’s actions. I’m sure you can understand his reasons for the outburst?”

  “Of course, she was his daughter after all. I won’t be pressing charges.” The detective nodded.

  “We’re all finished here…Let me know if there’s anything you need. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Shaw,” he said, and then headed to the door.

  Andrew was left standing there alone in the kitchen. A puddle of blood still on the wooden floor. A wave of emotions filled his mind and he broke down into tears.

  Just then, he received a shock as he heard a voice from behind him. “My condolences for your loss, Mr. Shaw.” It was a dry, husky voice. Andrew wiped his eyes, and looked around to see the silhouette of a figure emerge from the darkness.

  “Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my house?” he demanded, standing up.

  “Relax, Mr. Shaw. I didn’t mean to alarm you,” he said, as he stepped closer. “Allow me to introduce myself…My name is Mitch Clark. I work for a large corporation, one that your late wife was digging up dirt on,” he began.

  “My God…You’re the one who killed Amanda?” Andrew spoke, softly. He then went to reach for the house phone.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Shaw.”

  “And why’s that?” There was then the sound of a gun being cocked.

  “I won’t hesitate to reunite you with your wife, Mr. Shaw…However, that can be avoided, if you agree to keep your mouth shut about what your wife was doing.”

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. She never told me anything.” The man came up to Andrew and grabbed hold of his throat. He began to squeeze.

  “Don’t fucking lie to me, Mr. Shaw!” he snapped. “We know she was in possession of evidence that would destroy my employer…We want it back!” the man let go of Andrew’s throat. He gasped for breath and clutched his throat, coughing as he tried to re
gain his balance. “I’ll give you to the count of three, Mr. Shaw…One…Two…” But then, Andrew handed him a USB device. “Is this the only copy?” he asked. Andrew slowly nodded. He was still in too much pain to speak. “Excellent…Now, in two days, you’ll receive a large lump sum of money in your account…Consider it a bereavement package,” he said. “Not one word of this to ANYONE!” Mitch stood there for a moment, holding his gun at Andrew. Then, he disappeared.

  “John, are you with me?” asked Dr. Emily Scott, as she noticed that he’d drifted off from the conversation.

  “Sorry, I was just thinking about the day I found,” he said. “You know it’s hard…There’s not a single day that goes by that I don’t think about her,” he said.

  “I’d be very worried if you weren’t John. Are you still taking the medication?” she asked, and John nodded.

  “Yes. It helps ease the pain and to get me through the day,” he replied. “It’s just that every time I read the paper, or watch the news, there’s always something on there about Amanda’s suicide…I still don’t believe she killed herself,” he said.

  “You still believe she was murdered by someone?”

  “Of course, she was Emily. My daughter was not suicidal…She was happy, she was happily married…Why would she commit suicide?” Emily didn’t reply straight away.

  “Sometimes we just don’t fully understand how people are feeling. She was probably upset about something and she may have felt trapped by it,” said Emily.

  “I just wished she’d come to us for help…It’s not like we weren’t speaking to one another,” he said.

  She didn’t reply straight away. Just then, John’s bodyguard, Mitch Clark, came in.

  “Excuse me, Sir. You have a phone call,” he said, holding a phone.

  “Excuse me, we’re in the middle of a session here,” said Emily, standing up.

  “It’s okay, Emily…I could use a break anyway,” said John. He came over to Mitch who stood by the door. “Who is it?” he asked. Mitch leaned forward.

  “It’s Rick Wilson, Sir,” he said. John’s eyes widened, as he knew who it was. He took the phone and walked over to the corner.

  “Hello Rick. It’s John.” Rick was a private detective, and he was helping John with a case.

  “John, I’m glad I caught you…I have some additional information regarding your daughter’s suicide,” he began.

  “Don’t you mean her ‘alleged suicide’?” he said.

  “Right, sorry. Anyway, I need to meet you to discuss this evidence. Are you free?” John sighed and thought for a moment. He checked his watch. He knew Charmaine would be landing soon, but he had to find out what was going on.

  “Sure, I can meet you in half an hour?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll meet you at Hyde Park, the water fountain,” he said, and then hung up. John stood there and was curious about what Rick had to say about Andrew’s involvement.

  CHAPTER 17

  IT WAS A short flight from Canberra – forty-five-minutes to be exact – the Australian Air Force Boeing 787 Dreamliner VIP jet touched down at Sydney’s Kingsford Smith Airport.

  The jet was sleek and shiny and painted with the Australian Air Force colour scheme on its fuselage. It also had the words: REPUBLIC OF AUSTRALIA, written on either side.

  It taxied to the general aviation section of the airport where a group of people were waiting there to meet the President of Australia.

  It finally came to a stop and the plane was surrounded by ground service personnel. A vehicle was parked there waiting for the president.

  It was a black Range Rover Sports with tinted windows. When the plane stopped, its cabin door opened. A few moments later, Charmaine Bradley emerged from inside the plane. Crowds of reporters, photographers, civilians, and security were waiting anxiously as the light blue Dreamliner VIP jet with white stars and gold leaves came to a halt in front of them.

  The crowds erupted in cheers and the clicking of the cameras roar to life when Charmaine Bradley stepped out from the jet flanked by Joe Parsons, security, and several of her staff.

  She made her way down to the crowd on the way to the black cars waiting for her. Along the way she posed for pictures, hugged children, and greeted several members.

  As she got nearer to the cars, Kevin Fraser, the Premier of New South Wales emerged from one with an abnormally large smile on his face that shows off all of his teeth. “Your Excellency, this is Premier Kevin Fraser,” said Joe.

  “Your Excellency, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, as they shook hands.

  “Thank you, Premier. I’m excited to be here. It’s going to be a great day for the ceremony,” she said.

  “Ma’am, we need to get moving,” said Joe.

  “Very well. Thank you for coming, Premier. I’ll see you at the ceremony,” she said. She and Joe walked over to the vehicle.

  They climbed into the back and it slowly drove away. The whole time, photographers were snapping photos of the President.

  * * *

  The elevator chimed as Mick Greer stepped off and walked onto the main Operations Centre of the Criminal Investigative Branch.

  It was commonly referred to as the Ops Centre. He made his way through the bullpen style work stations with purpose towards where a woman with black, thick rimmed glasses was typing on a computer. This was Felicity Meyers.

  No one looked up as Mick marched to Felicity’s desk; everyone was hard at work typing away at computers or fielding phone calls.

  He came to a stop right in front of Felicity’s desk, but she barely acknowledged him.

  On the far wall of the operations centre was a large screen which displayed a digitalized map of Sydney CBD.

  The main Operations Centre was located on the fifth floor of the Australian Federal Police Headquarters building; this was located in Sydney’s central business district.

  Mick was carrying his brief case and as he walked across the floor, he was talking on the phone with his superior, Anna Mackenzie, the Superintendent. “Yes, I do think we should increase security around the Opera House,” said Mick, as he walked over to a desk. “Because, we have a very important person arriving in the city soon, and we also have intelligence that suggests the Independence Day festival may be a target,” he said. “Alright, thank you, Superintendent.” He then hung up and looked down at someone in front of him. “Felicity, updates?” he asked.

  “Good morning to you too, Boss,” said Felicity. He just looked at her, oddly. Felicity Meyers was a computer technician and systems officer; her job was to manage the operations centre on the technical side, as well as gather intelligence and collate data and assess threats from other government agencies.

  She was good at her job and she loved doing it. Felicity had a Bachelor’s degree in Computer Science which she obtained from the University of Sydney.

  She had a passion for computers and technology. She was, in a word: a computer geek, but she was proud of her title.

  She had a large L shaped desk with three monitors in front of her. She also had access to the latest virtual display technology.

  “It’s not a good morning, Felicity. We’ve got the first President of Australia arriving shortly, and we have a possible terrorist threat to deal with,” he said, as he flicked through an intelligence report. “What’s the latest?” he continued.

  “The Opera House is secure. We’ve got teams on site as well as plain clothed officers in the crowd,” she said. “We also have aerial surveillance of the site.”

  The Ops Centre had access to specialized surveillance equipment; they were drones and utilized to provide the AFP with additional security.

  “Good. We need to have every basis covered. How long before the President arrives?”

  “I just heard she’s landed at Sydney Airport. She’s on her way to the Admiralty House to sign the new Constitution,” she said. Mick didn’t say anything after that and slowly nodded.

  “Alright, keep working. Where’s Di
ane?”

  “She just arrived also. She’s in her office,” said Felicity. Mick turned and saw Detective Sergeant Diane Faulkner in her office, working away. “Good. We need all hands on deck today.” Felicity didn’t say anything after that. She just watched him as he walked off.

  Mick made his way to another office. He knocked on the door and showed himself in.

  “Morning, Detective Sergeant Cooper. Good to see you here,” he said. Detective Sergeant Ethan Cooper looked up from his computer. “Sorry to drag you from your holiday.”

  “Hey Boss. It’s no problem. It’s not like I had any choice,” he replied, rhetorically. Mick just chuckled.

  Ethan Cooper was a former Army officer with the Special Air Service Regiment. He’d since joined the AFP because of his expertise in Counter-Terrorism. “Besides, I couldn’t live with myself if something happened while I was on holiday,” he added.

  Ethan was supposed to be jetting off back to his hometown of Warnbro, Western Australia. He was going to go on a fishing trip with his old man, Bruce Cooper, for the Cooper boys’ family Australia Day tradition, but unfortunately had to cancel.

  Which was a sign of relief for Ethan, as he hated fishing. He thought it was so boring, and tedious. But his father loved it, and he was quite unwell, so he had to put up with it, just to make his father happy.

  His father was suffering from dementia; it was only in the early stages, but it was starting to present itself, according to his mother, Margaret Cooper.

  “Well, I don’t think anything will happen,” said Mick. There was a sudden pause, as Mick took a sip of his coffee. “How is your Dad anyway?” he asked. Mick knew his father was ill.

  “I think he’s okay. Though, Mum tends to hide the truth from me,” Ethan replied, and Mick agreed with a nod.

  “That’s true. I hope you get to see him this year,” he said, and Ethan smiled. “Have you gotten anything from those profiles?” he said, changing the subject.